


Alone With Our Madness

by liketheysay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff and Angst, Hannibal Loves Will, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Will Loves Hannibal, non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheysay/pseuds/liketheysay
Summary: Will and Hannibal are approaching the one year anniversary of the Dragon, their fall from the cliff, and all that that entails.Will remembers, Hannibal forgets, Will spills wine, and they end up in the bath?





	Alone With Our Madness

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I will someday write something other than Post-twotl Hannigram. It's just too appealing. I'm actually working (very slowly...) on a Trou Normand fix it of sorts— but in the meantime, here's this one!
> 
> Title borrowed from a poem by John Ashbery called "Late Echo."
> 
> Happy reading!

Will stood in front of the frosted window and looked out at the snowy landscape. The night appeared purple and tired, a yawning sort of twilight. He could feel the cool gusts of air hit his face even from behind the thick paned glass. 

His eyes followed along with a sudden burst of snow caught in the wind, painted a warm gold from the glow of the house’s light. The wind tossed the sparkling flakes every which way. He watched the flurry’s build in momentum to its eventual fall. 

The clinking of wine glasses returned him to reality.

Hannibal was taking two small glasses down from the cupboard, pivoting his shoulder just slightly to accommodate for the lingering pain. Will watched him with quiet interest as he rearranged the other cups and plates so the cupboard door would fully close. 

An eye for detail often comes hand in hand with total perfectionism. It was one of the many idiosyncrasies Will had become used to after a year of cohabitation and stealing glances when the other wasn’t looking. He was sure Hannibal had picked up on a few of his, too.

They had just finished dinner and the house still held onto the heavy scent of roasted chicken and sage. Will breathed in the comforting smell, thankful to have such delicious meals provided for him daily. It wasn’t the sophistication he admired in Hannibal’s cooking, but the consistency of style and taste. He knew no matter how elaborate or posh the presentation was, it would be filling and satisfying.

Finally, Hannibal looked up and noticed Will’s gaze. Will ducked his head sheepishly, uncertain as to what he had to feel ashamed of.

“How about a red wine, Will?” 

Hannibal’s voice echoed in the open room. 

The house was very similar to the cliff house where they met the Dragon a year earlier. The kitchen and dining room was one wide space, further accented by the large windows lining the perimeter of the house. The room seemed to sparkle at night, reflections catching off hanging pots and pans and the gleam of the marble countertop. 

Will returned Hannibal’s gaze, giving him a single nod of approval.

His mind wasn’t really present at the moment. He wasn’t sure where it was. Maybe outside with the snow, unusually blustery for the season, or maybe with the dream he had the other night, recalling visions of the Dragon, angry and hot. A glass of wine would do well for his nerves. 

He paced awkwardly across the room, taking his time to reach Hannibal’s side.

Evidently, Hannibal picked up on the thinly veiled tension. It was obvious in the way Will walked, how he held his shoulders up and forward to his chin.

“Something bothering you, Will?” Hannibal said as he offered him a glass.

Will grimaced slightly. He was hoping this wouldn’t turn into an interrogation.

“No, just… a little tired tonight. That’s all,” He gave a half smile, an unconvincing attempt to soothe Hannibal’s growing concern.

He took a sip of the wine. Its flavors were robust and invigorating, his tongue chasing after notes of vanilla and plum. The taste seemed to drift into the surrounding air, like a heavy aura permeating the room. 

Hannibal leaned towards him slightly and put the back of his hand to Will’s forehead. He let out a small hum and took another sip of wine, letting the taste coat his tongue before swallowing.

Maybe Will was tired, but he was still alert. He felt Hannibal’s proximity the way a dog hides before a storm. Ducking behind the couch, intuitive to its nature.

Hannibal watched him patiently over the rim of his glass.

“Perhaps we should retire early tonight,” Hannibal said.

 _We._ Will lingered on the word, repeating it in his head to determine the weight of it.

They had only slept in the same bed when circumstance called for it— the small single bed hotel room, the even smaller couch furnished in the shabby boat purchased in haste after the fall. Close encounters such as theirs eventually leads to a comfortable intimacy— one that questions itself silently in the dark of the night, but intimate nonetheless.

But tonight, though, Will felt something was off. That intimacy seemed far away, or perhaps shrouded by the wine’s heady fog.

Hannibal turned to the sink and put his now empty glass inside it. He began making the trek to the short flight of stairs that lead to their bedrooms. Will followed absently, feeling tethered to Hannibal’s movements.

Hannibal made it to the first step and turned his cheek, aware of Will’s company. 

“Is there anything you need, Will?” he asked over his shoulder.

Will thought. “Yes… no,”

At that Hannibal turned to face him completely, curious and intrigued at Will’s ambiguity.

“Did you know it’s almost been a year since the Dragon?” Will asked.

“I did not. I haven’t been keeping track,”

“Why not?” Suddenly Will felt offended.

He could count on one hand how many times they had talked about what took place that night— many conversations meandering around the subject, but some unapologetic and thrilling.

“Does that bother you?” Hannibal asked.

“I guess it does,” Realizing he still held onto the wine glass, Will brought it to his lips and watched Hannibal over the rim, relinquishing some sort of power to the dynamic. 

Hannibal gave him a miniscule smile, obviously amused at Will’s point of view. 

Despite their differences, they so often thought in a similar pattern, reaching the same conclusions albeit by different paths. Hannibal was curious how Will’s mind was working now. He had no idea he had slighted Will in any way, but of course such misunderstandings happen.

Hannibal stood at the foot of the stairs and simply waited for Will to continue. This was his to uncover, to unveil to them both.

“I don’t know, Hannibal,” Will said finally, “I just assumed you’d be ceremonial about it,”

“It is deserving of ceremony, of course. But what would we be celebrating, Will?”

“Not celebrating. Observing,”

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed.

They watched each other in silence. It was easy enough to maintain eye contact.

After a moment, Will sighed and looked down at the wine in his glass. He swirled it around pensively, kicking up the rich aroma. He remembered how Hannibal would do the same in his Baltimore dining room, taking the glass by its stem and airing each sip. Will wondered why it mattered, if it was all a part of Hannibal’s meticulously crafted pageantry, or if he truly felt the need to do such things.

Will felt his face turn red when he realized Hannibal was still at the base of the stairs, watching him. 

Turning towards the kitchen, then, he reached out to put the still full glass on the counter but let it drop to the floor, watching as the liquid splashed across the cold tile floor. Ragged bits of glass scattered everywhere, stained a deep burgundy like a church window.

“Shit,” Will mumbled.

He knelt to the floor and grabbed the sharp pieces with bare hands. Hannibal promptly joined him and knelt beside him, using a white cloth to pick up the larger shards. He shooed Will’s hands away when he noticed him wince at a small cut to his palm.

“Leave it to me,” Hannibal said.

“It was my fault, I can do it,”

Hannibal grabbed Will’s wrist and brought him up to stand. Will let him. 

His eyes drifted to Will’s chest, noticing the dark stain near the collar.

“Your shirt,”

Will looked. He could feel the liquid seeping through to his chest, slowly dripping down to his belly.

“I’ll finish cleaning this up,” Hannibal said as he continued picking up the bits of glass. “Draw yourself a bath before you go to bed. Leave the shirt outside the door and I’ll wash it tonight.”

He didn't look up as he spoke. It felt like an order. 

As Will watched Hannibal fuss with the glass on the floor, he thought back to the first few months after the fall.

Hannibal was worse off than he was. The gunshot wound to his stomach quickly turned to infection and caused Hannibal to suffer from spells of hysteria and paranoia. Will would lay by his side in the night, soothing and hushing him back to sleep, wiping beads of sweat off his brow. 

After some time, once Hannibal had recovered, they could play doctor to each other. Hannibal remained bed-bound but insisted on cleaning the wounds to Will’s cheek and shoulder and kept him well fed. 

In return, Will bathed Hannibal as best he could in the confines of the boat’s small tub. It was technically a shower, but Hannibal could only stand for so long. Instead, he sat on the floor of the shower while Will used a sponge to scrub his back and wash his hair. 

Will remembered all that now, watching Hannibal poke around at the broken wine glass, ordering Will to draw himself a bath.

Suddenly, Will understood what had been bothering him all night. He felt there was a divide between the two of them, some sort of rift forged in the time after the fall. What had changed? Why did it feel as if they'd made a great discovery only to drop it back into the ocean?

Will couldn't fully understand his loyalty to Hannibal, but he knew he could never be apart from him again. He was tired of playing games.

Then, Will had an idea.

He walked to the foot of the staircase where Hannibal had stood watching him minutes before, turned his cheek and said,  
“Once you're finished with that, Hannibal, why don't you meet me in the bathroom,”

He couldn't see Hannibal's reaction. He just kept walking.

In the bathroom, Will started running water for the tub and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like he always did, just a little scratched up on one side. Nothing new.

He tried to feel nervous or some kind of regret for what he had asked of Hannibal. But he felt nothing but the slow beating of his heart, a calming rhythm throughout his senses. Everything was going to be okay.

When Hannibal reached the bathroom a few minutes later, he stopped in the doorway and leaned against the wooden frame, suspicious and unsure as to how to proceed. 

He watched as Will knelt beside the edge of the tub, dipping a hand in to test for warmth. Feeling Hannibal’s presence, Will stood and turned towards him, letting his arms fall casually to his sides. 

They watched each other carefully, cautious not to make a wrong move. What was to be accepted, what considered too far?

Finally, Will reached for the top buttons of his own shirt, his eyes holding onto Hannibal’s as he worked his way down to the bottom button. He shed the clothing and swept his undershirt over his head in one clean motion, letting the garments fall to a pile on the floor. 

Hannibal watched with rapt attention, still leaning solidly against the doorframe. 

After another moment, Will unbuckled his pants and let them drop around his ankles, kicking them clumsily to the side. His fingers hesitated over the waistband of his boxers only for a moment before he discarded those, too. 

This time Hannibal audibly inhaled, his eyes unable to part from the sight of Will’s slack cock. 

Catching his probable rudeness, he lifted his gaze to meet Will’s eyes again. They were bold and clear, locked to Hannibal’s own.

Hannibal readjusted himself in the doorway, struggling for a second to find balance on his own without the added support.

As Hannibal moved to undo the buttons of his own shirt, Will promptly approached him and took over. His fingers worked meticulously on the small buttons like marble, eyes never leaving them as he worked. When he reached the final button, he helped Hannibal shrug the garment over and down his shoulders, taking special care not to wrinkle or muss.

Then, Will could finally look at what was underneath. 

He was struck by the broad expanse of Hannibal’s chest, sturdy and firm to the touch. He let the tips of his fingers trail through the tangle of Hannibal’s greying chest hair, enjoying the level of intimacy it permitted. 

He slid one finger over the peak of Hannibal’s nipple partially on accident, but rooted in curiosity. Will thought he saw a break in Hannibal’s composure then, taking note of the dilated pupils and quickened breath.

After his fingers had explored enough, Will put his palm flat against Hannibal’s chest, just above his heart. His motivations weren’t sexual, just curious. He felt the compelling need to touch Hannibal, to be so near to him and still feel safe. At ease.

“Your heart’s beating,” Will whispered.

“I would hope so,” Hannibal quipped.

Will rolled his eyes. He knew what he meant. He could feel the whole room beat in time with Hannibal’s chest. He found himself wishing he could touch Hannibal that deeply, to hold his heart in the palm of his hand, show Hannibal what he was capable of— what Hannibal made him capable of. 

Will couldn't explain these desires without worrying what Hannibal might take from it. He never imagined having to make the decision whether or not to lead him on… it just had never been a pressing thought.

Until now. Until right here, standing bare in front of each other without cruel scrutiny. Will had to wonder. What was he to gain from all of this?

“I’m enjoying this very much,” Hannibal hummed, “But I do have to tell you that the bathtub is about to overflow,”

Will took his hand back, trying unsuccessfully to find a pocket in his thigh where there wasn’t one. As he moved away from the heat that Hannibal’s body provided, he momentarily felt very aware of his nakedness.

The water had filled the tub to the brim, leaving no wiggle room for two grown bodies. Little tufts of soap had toppled onto the floor.

Will stepped in first, finding his footing beneath the warm, sudsy water. He sat with his back against the rounded end and stretched his legs out in front of him until his feet hit the other side, causing his knees to bend just slightly. 

Knowing Hannibal would be hesitant to assume their undecided arrangement, Will spread his legs apart as much as the tub would allow, showing Hannibal where he wanted him.

Hannibal stepped into the tub cautiously, making sure not to crowd Will in any way. As a result, he sat awkwardly and hunched forward, only touching Will at the overlap of their legs.

Will took Hannibal’s shoulders in either hand and gently lead him back against his chest, a silent gesture of his consent.

He knew what he was getting into when he offered sharing a bath with Hannibal, but he didn’t quite prepare for the exquisite feeling of being so close to him. There was no room left between them— an otherwise uncomfortable situation diminishing into something soothing and somehow welcome.

“It isn’t too hot?” Will asked.

“No, it’s perfect,” Hannibal’s voice sounded quiet and exasperated, like he had just woken up from a dream.

Will smiled. He wondered if Hannibal was glad he couldn't see his face. Will wondered what he would see in him.

Slowly, they began to settle into the warm water comfortably. In time, Hannibal let his whole weight lean against the body behind him and put one hand over Will’s left knee. Will let him. It was nice like this, soaking in the soapy water, drinking in the heated perfume of lilac and cedar. It was intoxicating.

After a while, Will realized that he felt rather drowsy. He closed his eyes just for a moment. 

“Was that on purpose, Will?”

Hannibal’s low voice returned him to reality.

“Was what on purpose?”

Hannibal glanced at him over his shoulder. “The wine,”

Will let his head rest against the back of the tub. He closed his eyes again and sighed.

“I don’t know. Maybe,”

Hannibal chuckled softly. “I wouldn’t put it past you. However, I didn’t realize this was your intention,” He motioned lazily over the water with his right hand.

“I guess I didn’t either,” Will said.

“You seem to be very indecisive tonight, Will,”

“You seem to have that effect on me,”

Hannibal was quiet then, pausing cautiously before asking, “What else do I do to you?”

Will wondered that himself. He harbored no doubts as to how fatally Hannibal had changed him throughout the years. It certainly wasn’t for the better, but he couldn’t say he regretted the painfully indelible mark they had each carved within each other. 

In response, Will trailed his fingertips over the ridges of Hannibal's Verger scar, finding the rough grooves and the softer skin inside it. He couldn’t help but feel protective of it. But beneath that, he felt a creeping sort of anger he couldn't quite name— contempt, disgust, jealousy. It wasn’t that Mason did what he did, but that Will wasn’t there to do anything about it. 

“How does this make you feel?” Will asked, knowingly changing the subject.

“The scar, or you touching it?”

Will smiled. “The scar. And having received it from the person you did,”

“It isn't the most prized of my collection, of course, but it doesn't come entirely without happy memories,”

“Happy memories?” Will asked astoundedly, “Our trip to the Verger farm seems to have left us with very different experiences. I wasn’t aware that being tied up and drugged was your idea of a good time,”

Will felt Hannibal’s chuckle reverberate through his chest. 

“But,” Hannibal said softly, “We were there together,”

Will refrained from reminding Hannibal of their conversation at his Wolftrap home on the night of their escape. He didn’t remember at the time exactly how they got back there. But he remembered feeling Hannibal’s body next to his, breath heavy and strained. 

Years later, Will realized the intimacy of this act. Flashes of Hannibal’s face carved into the black of the night sky would haunt Will’s dreams for years after. No one had enacted such a selfless show of love for Will before, not like that.

“You’re right,” Will said finally.

Suddenly, Hannibal turned his body as much as his wound would allow and looked at Will, one hand clutching the edge of the tub for balance. He paused, each of them waiting for something in the other’s eyes, two souls captured by each other.

Will saw something in Hannibal spark as he moved to fully readjust himself to lay flat against Will’s chest, his head finding a soft spot just under Will’s chin. Hannibal draped his left arm across Will’s belly and closed his eyes. 

Will went completely still, reeling at the new arrangement of their bodies. It was something entirely more intimate than anything they'd shared.

“What do you want, Will?” Hannibal asked bluntly.

“I don’t know…”

Hannibal laughed softly, bumping his chin against Will’s chest.

“I forget how I inspire indecisiveness in you, dear Will,”

Will smiled at that. He couldn’t disagree. 

Easing into the strange new arrangement, Will placed his hand at the back of Hannibal’s neck and let his fingers explore the soft hair there. He wanted to give him a sincere answer, any answer. What did he want, here, in this moment?

“Alone with our madness,” Will recited slowly, “For love to continue and be gradually different,”

He could feel the soft brushing of Hannibal’s eyelashes as he considered his words.

“A poem, Will? I didn’t think you were the type,”

Will grinned, “I’m full of surprises,”

He let his head fall forward to rest on Hannibal’s temple and whispered low into the soft skin there, “I don’t know what I want, Hannibal. I’m still figuring everything out. That might take some time. But this… this is nice,”

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Hannibal slid one leg forward and wrapped it around Will’s thigh.They laid entangled together, warmed by each other's skin and feeling safe with their bodies pressed firmly together. 

Who knows how long they stayed like that.


End file.
